


Ghosts of the Past

by Anonymous



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 07:03:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14491446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The past haunts Nanaki at the Gold Saucer.





	Ghosts of the Past

There were ghosts in his room.

They had appeared shortly after Aerith's departure, slipping through the southern wall. Nanaki had seen them haunting the lobby earlier, translucent white shapes clinging to the garish furniture and lingering about the velvet-covered steps. They had unsettled him, even downstairs in the company of others; he didn't know where they came from or why they were here, if they were real or simply a trick of the light, crafted by humans to lend atmosphere and credence to the hotel. Whatever the case, he hadn't expected to find them in his room, peeking out at him from behind the curtains, just out of reach.

They were probably bad for business, he thought, training his eye on one that had woven itself around the light fixture in the ceiling. But then again, there wasn't much choice of lodgings to be had here in the Gold Saucer. The tourists had to tolerate them or leave, and from the looks of things, most of them left or spent their nights elsewhere in the amusement park.

Nanaki tolerated the ghosts, but he didn't like them. He wasn't frightened of them—very little frightened him these days, after the caves of Cosmo Canyon, where the spirits of the dead had riddled the walls and festered like maggots in rotting meat—but they were a stark reminder of those times and of the things that were wrong with the world. All living beings returned to the Lifestream—or _should_ return anyways—except for those clinging to life even after death by the very force of their hatred, by the strength of their will. Abominations like Sephiroth, twisted and warped beyond recognition. And how were the men in the black capes connected to him? Was—was he going to become like them, too-bright eyes hollow with mako, empty inside but alive by virtue of the blood pumping in his veins? Somehow that struck him as even more unnatural than the angry spirits of Cosmo Canyon. To be alive but to lose yourself, bit by bit. Was that his future?

Nanaki shook his head violently. No! _Be strong_ , Tifa had said to him. He had to try.

He stood and padded over to the fireplace, where Aerith had laid out extra logs for him. He lit them with a Fire spell and slumped down before the hearth, trying to push the charged, acidic scent of mako from his nostrils—to forget the professor, his face and figure distended through the glass; to numb himself to the memory of needles pricking his skin.

His tattoo itched. Nanaki did his best to ignore it and stared into the flickering fire of his tail. Somewhere, he knew, far away to the west, a similar flame burned, hemmed in by towering canyon walls, eternal and strong.

Strong. He had to be strong, like Tifa had said. For Cosmo Canyon, for his friends, for Grandpa. For himself.

The shadows along the wall waxed and waned by the light of the fire, and the ghosts, unbothered, flitted to them like moths to a flame. Beneath them, Nanaki closed his eye and fell into an uneasy sleep.


End file.
